Heero entered then, and the distraction he posed gave me just enough time to grab the attacker's wrist and twist it, ridding him of the knife. I slammed my fist into the side of his head, knocking him to the floor, unconscious.
Forgetting about him in the next instant, I rushed to Dragon, who was still lying inert on the bed. Approaching him I could see that the blood was coming from underneath him, but as he was still clothed in his boxers I doubted the attacker had taken advantage of him. Still, the thought that he could have made my heart jump, and I turned Dragon over to find a deep gash along his inner thigh.
That still didn't explain why he wouldn't move, though, so I turned him back to his stomach. His eyes were glazed and his body limp.
"Dragon?" I called, lifting his head, "Dragon, can you hear me?" I wondered. No response was forthcoming, but I felt something strange on the back of his neck. I tilted his head forward only to find a drugged patch on the back of his neck. "Heero!" I called as I began to carefully peel the patch off, "Run and get me a wet rag from the kitchen," I commanded, keeping my voice calm and level. Despite this, Heero dashed out of the room, his new mission taking center importance.
I sighed and examined the patch before tossing it aside. It was a standard down patch, and did not seem to be tampered with. Still, I didn't want to chance that they had done something strange with it, and gently wiped away any chemical residue the patch might have left once Heero returned with the rag. The patch gone and the area cleaned, Dragon quickly began to come around.
"Mmph!" he said, making strange faces as he attempted to get control of his muscles again. "Wha-? Where...?"
"You're safe," I told him, carefully holding him in a half sitting position so that he didn't move and accidentally hurt himself as the drug wore off. "We've dealt with the attacker, but he drugged you before we could get here. Do you remember anything?" I asked.
"I rem'mber..." he said, scrunching up his face in concentration, "... you're mean," he finished childishly. It seemed that, though the drug hadn't completely put him out, it had made him almost drunk. I smiled. On the one hand, he was not suffering from amnesia. On the other, all he could remember was that I was mean. Lovely.
"Well," I said charmingly, "that's a matter of opinion."
I lifted Dragon in my arms and, unable to protest, he went quietly to the den, where I laid him on the couch.
"Trowa, come out and call security for me. Heero, do we have any rope? We could tie up the burglar..."
"It wouldn't be any use," Heero commented in his emotionless tone as he exited the room. "He's dead."
"What? He can't be. I didn't hit him nearly hard enough for that."
"I know, but he woke up and swallowed two pills before I could reach him. Apparently, death was preferable to failing his mission."
"Ah..." I said, hesitating. "What should we do with him now, then?"
"I'll contact the proper authorities," Trowa said, heading for the kitchen. "They'll take the body, then attempt to locate the master."
"What good will that do?"
"The master has to pay for damages," Heero said from the apartment's door. "There was some damaged furniture in the slave's quarters and the lock on this door will need fixed."
"I don't care about the money. What about punishing the master who ordered this?" I asked, still standing over Dragon, who was waving his hands in front of his face, like he had never seen such a thing before. Heero and Trowa hesitated in responding, looking at each other. A communication seemed to pass through them before Heero answered.
"Unfortunately, that's nearly impossible," Heero said, avoiding eye-contact. "Even if we find the master, they could always just say the slave did it totally on his own. There's almost no way to prove otherwise. But... if you really want to get back at the master for this... insult... Trowa or myself could..."
"Enough. It's far too dangerous for either of you to even think about attacking a master or his slaves. I don't want to hear about it again."
"Yes, master," they commented in unison, and seemed vaguely relieved. As if, after how protective I had been of them, I would even think of letting them go on a frivolous assassination mission. What silly slaves I had.
"Can the door be fixed?" I asked.
"Yes," Heero replied as he fiddled with the wiring on the lock, punching in codes as he went, "but if it has been broken into once it can be broken again."
"I see. Then we'll have to be on guard tonight, and I'll install a better security system tomorrow."
"Master, I could stand guard."
"You shouldn't go all night without sleep."
"I am trained to go long periods without sleep."
"No."
"But..."
"Enough. I'm a light sleeper. As long as we're together it will be safe," I told him, but that wasn't the only reason I felt I needed to stand guard. The attack was partially my fault, for I had heard the intruder and did nothing. If something had really happened to Dragon, I wasn't sure if I could have lived with myself.
"Is everyone alright?" Quatre asked, peering out of the bedroom door. "Can I come out now?"
"It's safe now," Trowa said to Quatre, then turned to me. "I called security. They'll come get the body in a few minutes."
"Will I need to answer questions?"
"No. I told them we were attacked, and subdued the assailant. They can see that the pills killed him. Your word is good enough."
"Alright then, let's see what we can do for Dragon before they get here."
"Is he hurt?" Quatre asked, moving from his place in the doorway to kneel beside the couch.
"Yes, but it's not bad. It might require stitches, though."
"Oh," he said, taking Dragon's hand and laying his other on his forehead, "you'll be alright. Master is very capable."
"'E's nah a doct...or," Dragon replied, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"No, but you don't have to go all the way to the medical wing if I do it."
"...Kay."
"Alright then, hold still so I can get started," I instructed, lifting his leg.
"No!" he yelled, slamming it back down.
"Dragon..."
"You're bad!" he yelled, pulling himself into a ball at the end of the couch, tears in his eyes.
"I'm just trying to help."
"Bad things! I'm strong!" he yelled, curling himself in tighter. I looked over the back of the couch and signaled for Heero to come closer. He nodded, closed the door, and approached. Trowa was only a few steps behind, carrying the first aide box. I rose and went to talk to them.
"He's not going to be lucid for another few hours," I told them quietly, so Dragon couldn't overhear. "He's not going to like it, but you're going to have to help me hold him down so I can treat the wound on his leg. So long as it's small enough to use butterfly bandages instead of stitches, it should only take a few minutes," I said. The two nodded, and we turned back to the couch.
"Dragon, I need you to lie back so I can see your wound," I told him, but he only shook his head stubbornly. With a sigh, I motioned to Heero and Trowa, who quickly took Dragon's arms and pinned him to the couch. Dragon tried to kick out, but they were quick, one coming around each side of the couch to grab his thighs and hold them open.
From this vantage point I made the annoying discovery that his shorts would have to go, as I couldn't hold them up and away from the wound at the same time I cleaned it. Too tired to fight with pulling them off, I grabbed a pair of scissors from the first aide box and cut them off. Dragon let out a scream that pierced the room, watching me between his legs with terrified eyes.
"Quatre, hold his head!" I snapped, "Don't let him look!" I said, hoping that Dragon's state would cause him to calm once he couldn't see what was going on.
It worked somewhat, as Dragon was reduced to merely sobbing and thrashing as Quatre took his head in his hands and forced him to look away.
"Hey there, Dragon," he cooed, trying to calm the boy. "Can you look at my eyes? What color are they?"
"...uhn... eh... b-... blue..." Dragon replied through his sobbing.
"Really? Are they pretty?"
"Uh... yes... Very pretty..."
"Thank you! What about my nose? Is it cute?"
"... It's... small..."
"Oh. Is that bad?"
"...No."
"What about-..."
"That's enough," I said, interrupting Quatre's questions. "I'm already done. Trowa, run and get Dragon a robe, please," I asked, and Trowa scurried to obey. My comment, for some reason, instead of making Dragon cry less made him cry harder. "What's wrong now?"
"A-... a-am I d-d-dirty n-n-n-now?" he huffed, sobbing harshly.
"No," I said, taking his head in my hands. "I just fixed the cut on your leg. You haven't lost a shred of dignity from what I did. Do you understand, Dragon?"
"That's not my name!" he growled, suddenly offended by the use of his slave-name.
"I don't know your real name."
"It's Wufei! Chang Wufei! 'M not a damn liz'rd!" he huffed, his tears suddenly gone. One thing was for certain, this boy would never be getting a sip of alcohol from me! Not if this was how he acted when drunk! I wasn't sure if I'd even allow him headache pills.